


not quite.

by sutera



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Cauterization, M/M, Original Character(s), Stabbing, Torture, anyway, not in the way people think wheezes, they play minor parts tho, well okay technically major parts but obvsly the focus is on ig and noct
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-26
Updated: 2018-02-26
Packaged: 2019-03-24 04:32:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13803477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sutera/pseuds/sutera
Summary: He'd do anything for Noct.





	not quite.

**Author's Note:**

> a very loose continuation of [almost.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13626708) but can be read alone! 
> 
> if you want to skip the torture, stop at ' "You're quite rude" ' and just go straight to 'she talks.' fingerguns lkjsaf.

He sees the flash of a blade a second too late.

It’d been silver, Ignis recalls faintly, even as his body moves automatically to hook his fingers in the collar of the assailant to halt their mad flee. It’d been _silver_ , he’s sure, stained with the dull red of Noct’s blood and it’s that singular thought that drives him to summon a dagger and slip it without hesitation across the offender’s throat. The man doesn't struggle. The man doesn't even try to kill Ignis _either_. His action isn't forced, Ignis thinks faintly, but… well, neither was it unjustified.

Ignis’ fingers stiffly unfurl from the unknown man’s collar and he doesn’t even bother witnessing the gurgling man’s fall.

“ _Ignis_ —!” Gladio’s voice is short and rough; he’d noticed it, the sudden and swift act of _mercy_ —because if Ignis were to be honest, such a quick death would not have been on the books had he enough time—and Ignis ignores the heavy frown directed at him, ignores the frantic fumbles of Prompto to his right, and moves immediately over to Noct. “The hell were you—?!”

“Noct,” Ignis says, urgently now, and the apathy fades in time for overwhelming concern to flood him. Around him, he distantly hears the shocked screams and exclamations from passerbys on the dead body on the ground, but his attention right now is fully devoted to Noct.

Noct, who’d stopped very suddenly when the unknown man had ‘accidentally’ bumped into him. Noct, who now seems to be _trembling_. Noct, who turns to him with pallid features, eyes wide, and Ignis immediately coils an arm under his shoulder to support him.

Noct’s mouth opens and closes uselessly before an unintelligible noise escapes him. Ignis can feel it, the visceral dampness in Noct’s side where the blade had been slipped into and out, and panic floods him so fast he almost devolves into a babble of worry. As it is, all he manages is, “I’ve got you, Noct,” before the prince goes limp in his arms. A strangled sound escapes Ignis’ throat at the abruptness, the _stillness_ , and tries fervently to convince himself Noct’s not dead. He can feel Noct's chest moving against his own, after all. He’s fine. Noct will be fine.

“Is he—wh-what just happened?!” Prompto yells, a nervous wreck on the other side of Noct; he’s looking back and forth from Ignis to Gladio, completely uncertain on what to do, and Ignis’ mind snaps into place at the sight. He must remain calm. He needs to help Noct.

His muscles are straining from the sudden weight and jerks his head at Gladio. “Take him to the clinic. It’s two blocks over. Keep pressure on the wound.” Wordlessly, Gladio takes Noct’s terrifyingly limp form in his arms, a gentle bridal style to avoid disrupting the injury, and jogs off. Ignis’ eyes catch Noct’s face before they disappear, dark strands matted over his forehead from sweat, face screwed up in pain, and resists the urge to chase after to ensure the prince’s liveliness for himself. Ignis rests a hand on Prompto’s shoulder. “May I ask that you manage the crowd? I understand if—”

But Prompto’s nodding immediately. “You can count on me, Iggy,” he says determinedly before turning to the terrified onlookers.

The blond’s moving away but Ignis blocks his voice out. If they had an extraordinary amount of luck, word of this won’t reach Nifleheim and broadcast their location; the townspeople surrounding them now can tally up to about a dozen and Ignis briefly considers the possibility of silencing them himself. It’s a cold assessment, however, and he banishes the idea from his mind. As efficient as it would be, he doubts the others would approve of it. Hopefully Prompto can convince them not to say anything though that’s a long-shot. A matter to deal with later, then, as soon as Noct’s well.

As soon as Noct’s well.

He has faith that Gladio can ensure Noct’s health. It _hurts_ to not be watching over the prince himself but this… well. Ignis had spotted the faint gloss of poison on the blade of the dagger and he suspects there’s something more at work here. Surely there wouldn’t be just _one_ man on the job here.

He kneels beside the would-be assassin and notes that he’s dressed as a normal citizen. Ignis' hands trace over the biceps, the jacket pockets, the hips and pants. Muscles. Trained, then, and professionally if the callouses are to be believed. There's a scar just under the man's brow, deep to indicate a once-serious injury, but that isn't important. He's still holding the dagger and Ignis carefully removes it from stiffened fingers. Silver, as he'd suspected, and he must restrain a nasty snarl upon seeing the blood coating the blade. Noct's blood. Would that he'd kept this man alive.

Putting the knife to one side, he shoves the man over onto his stomach and checks the back pockets. No phone, no wallet. Nothing pointing to his identity nor the type of poison used. Ignis doubts it's one that can be cured by the general antidote given the nature of attack. It would be a redundant attempt to kill him otherwise.

He stands. Prompto glances back at him but the crowd seems to be dispersing to leave them to it. Ignis doesn't have a clue as to what he's said but he's grateful for the help. It's stopped anyone from interrupting him, after all.

"Found anything?" There's a barely imperceptible tremble in Prompto's tone and Ignis inwardly approves of how well Prompto's kept it together until now. The Crownsguard’s program doesn't particularly focus on the death of another human being, after all, and many who’d undergone the formal training had anticipated fighting machines or daemons. Not humans. Never humans.

Ignis, however, has undergone different training. Gladio, too, since he was to be the King's Shield, though Ignis suspects such lessons centred on pain tolerance among the obvious things. After all, Gladio's duty has always been to be at his King's side and never further. Ignis, though? Ignis has far more room to branch out and it's with a quiet calm that he recalls such private classes with clarity.

"Take this to Gladio. Take care not to touch the blade," Ignis says quietly, handing him the dagger. "It's poisoned."

A small noise escapes Prompto's throat as he takes it but he nods. "What about you?"

Ignis feels a small smile tug at his lips, but the motion is empty. "I need to take care of something."

Prompto frowns and there's something weary in his face, as if he knows what Ignis is about to do. However, he doesn't mention it, and Ignis is grateful. "Alright. Okay. Um... be careful, alright, Iggy?"

"I'll do my best."

Prompto moves off and Ignis stares at the body on the ground. He'll take care of it in time. Or, perhaps, Gladio will send someone to. Ignis isn't sure but it's not exactly a priority right now. He stares at the blood spreading out across the ground, dark liquid tracing a pattern among the indents, and has a sudden image of Noct in a hospital bed, sweating and panting with a fluttering heart, the wound at his side not healing, getting worse and worse because of the poison eating away at his life, the poison this _filth_ at his feet has tainted Noct with—

Ignis shakes his head. Calm. He must keep his head.

He recalls the image of the dagger in his mind. He'd been distracted by the blood, that's true, but there'd been an engraving. Something resembling a hoof of some sort and Ignis compares it mentally to the more elusive organizations that dwell in this land. Definitely a contract job though Ignis does wonder how they knew Noct would be in Lestallum and especially how they knew what he looked like. Or perhaps it was the situation where the assassins were shown a picture and location. No matter. Ignis will take care of it.

Before he can reach into his pocket to start dialing certain contacts, he hears a scuffling sound. His head jerks to the side and sees a woman dressed in all black. She's wearing a full body suit, a tight balaclava to conceal her facial features, and she's backing away.

"You're part of this?" Ignis asks, very softly, but she's turning and running before the last syllable leaves his lips.

Ignis gives chase.

It doesn't take long for him to guess that this is a trap. She'd made the sound on purpose. She's weaving through the streets at a moderate pace as well, not exactly sprinting but close to it, and Ignis must lag his steps so he doesn't catch up to her prematurely. He needs to find their lair if they have one.

A few more turns later and they're at a dead end. Ignis slows his steps, eyes sharp on the woman, and immediately must dive forward into a roll when she turns and suddenly starts shooting at him. There's a silencer on the gun, Ignis hears, and he suppresses a snarl, suppresses the anger that simmers just below his skin. He wants to kill her. He wants to exact his own brand of justice for being a part of Noct's suffering. As it is, perhaps she'll have to suffer what her partner has escaped by Ignis' swift actions earlier that lead to his death.

He draws his daggers from the Armiger and laces them with lightning within a second; in the next, he's a zip of speed and restrained fury, the surroundings blurring past him as he darts forward. His grip aches to slip his blade between her ribs and into her heart but he needs answers first. He must get answers.

Up close, her eyes are wide at the suddenness of proximity and Ignis does wonder if the person that hired them had told them about the magic. He wonders, too, if their boss had also chosen them based on skill considering the lack of difficulty he has in disarming her. Ducking under a panicked, wild shoot of her gun, he dances around it and drives the underside of his dagger into her temple that makes her crumple with a whimpered cry.

"I imagine you've never met someone who's undergone training to protect royalty, so I'll forgive you for the sloppy defence." He's indifferent to the possibilities of this encounter, of it's outcomes, and wholly lets his mind sink into apathy. There’s no room for anything else, here. Not when Noct’s life is at stake.

She’s curled up on the ground, gasping, though when he crouches down next to her, she whips her head up and spits at him. “Insomnian _filth_!”

The glob lands on his shirt. Calmly, he gets out a handkerchief from his pocket and wipes it away.

“You’re quite rude,” he comments quietly, and a hand reaches forward and tugs off the material shielding her face. An ugly scar traces the length of her jaw and her hair is a cropped brown. Her expression is defiant and hateful and everything Ignis expects from an assassin willing to murder Lucian royalty. Her temple, where Ignis had struck her, bleeds heavily and he thinks he perhaps used far more force than necessary. It also explains why she isn’t moving despite the fact he’d only landed one blow on her. No doubt she was attempting to gain her bearings since he wasn’t attacking her straight away.

At such a thought, he stands slowly and, after a moment of consideration, _stomps_ down on her calf. A scream rips through the air as a crack follows his motion and Ignis is sure he sees the white of her bone poking through the fabric of her clothes. There. There’d been a risk, after all, even if she seemed harmless. Now there will be no underhanded attempt to catch him unawares.

“Drat,” he mutters, ignoring the pitiful cries of agony that tumble from her. It occurs to him that he should’ve done that _afterwards_ considering he needs to make a call. He contemplates telling her to be quiet but that’s not a fast enough solution. Her pain threshold doesn’t seem to be high either, judging by the whimpers, and so, very gently, he lifts a foot and nudges the edge of his shoe against her chin. Instinctively, she tilts her head back and Ignis starts pushing down. Her eyes widen and a choked sound escapes her as she’s robbed of the ability to breathe.

“A moment, if you will,” he tells her, and gets out his phone. He speed-dials Gladio and holds it up to his ear. Slivers of anxiety start to worm into his current state despite the lid he’d slammed on his emotions. “How is he?”

“Bad,” Gladio answers shortly. He’s angry, the default when he’s worried out of his mind, and Ignis feels his chest tighten in fear. “I don’t think he’s gonna make it, Iggy. Docs examined the knife and they couldn’t identify the poison.”

“As suspected,” Ignis says softly, trying not to scream at the implications. He very nearly breaks the neck of the woman currently struggling against his foot out of suppressed anger. Her eyes are slowly rolling to the back of her head and he takes note of the struggles weakening. He eases the pressure on her throat and she wheezes in oxygen, loud and disgusting like the vermin she is.

“Ignis?” Gladio asks suddenly, sharply, “where the hell are you?”

It occurs to Ignis that he can hear the woman over the phone. “I’ve run into the partner of the one who assaulted Noct,” he says evenly. “Expect information soon. Be ready.”

“Ig…” Gladio inhales. Ignis expects he’s guessed already what will happen. “Don’t go too far.”

“There’s no such thing as ‘too far’ when Noct’s life is in peril,” Ignis snaps out, then decides he’ll deal with this conversation later. He abruptly hangs up and slips his phone into his pocket. He’s wasted enough time. He’ll need to make this quick. Every second counts.

The woman’s trying to crawl away now but her leg’s stopping her. Ignis crouches by her head and gently grips her chin twixt a gloved thumb and forefinger. Her eyes are glazed with agony but there’s still fire in them, still defiance and fury. He’ll quietly squeeze all of it from her to get what he needs. It’s necessary.

“I’ll get to the point.” His voice is soft in its deliverance. He doesn’t need to push his anger to frighten her. He knows she can tell what will happen if he doesn’t get an answer. “The poison you used. Where is the antidote?”

“ _Deserves_ to die!” she hisses out, teeth bared and she’s tense with pain. “You think we’ll le—?!” Her words cut off with a whimper as he reaches with his free hand to agitate the bone poking out from the dark fabric of her trousers. She growls, “fuck you!”

“It would be wise not to push me.” He’s been pushed already but she doesn’t know that. “I’m quite pressed for time. Tell me where the antidote is.”

She gives a shaky laugh. “What makes you think there _is_ an antidote? We wanted him to die and we’re getting it! Fuck your precious royalty! You’re all fucking cowards hiding behind the Wall!”

That’s a matter to address much, much later considering the implications of it. He’d rather deal with the poison first.

He shifts, abandoning the protruding bone. He’ll have to take this up several notches. Time is precious, after all, and so is Noct’s life. He takes her hand tenderly, watching carefully for any sign of movement, but she’s staring at him instead in mounting confusion and concealed fear. He smiles at her and presses a kiss atop the exterior of her palm.

“I’ve never quite had the penchant for letting a lady dirty her hands with blood but I must confess this situation calls for it.” He doesn’t give her a chance to voice whatever perplexed thoughts cross her pained mind and instead pulls back from her hand. She doesn’t deserve a knife. Not one that Noct has gifted him with. Bracing his grip, his free fingers wrap around her pinky finger and starts _pulling_ —

She _screams_ , arching her back and struggling when a pop sounds followed shortly by a crack and the disgusting sound of tendon and skin ripping apart. He persists until there’s veins and the peak of white beyond the sudden blood pouring from the wound. He keeps going until the bone is tugged out from the coiled flesh and he’s holding her small finger completely separate from her ruined hand. She’s a sobbing mess as he tosses the crudely torn flesh somewhere to the side.

“You’re going to tell me where the antidote is.” His voice is still soft. It doesn’t waver. A part of him wonders what the bloody hell is _wrong_ with him but he quickly smothers the thought. After. _After_. He can’t risk slipping now.

The blood runs down his wrist in glistening rivulets and the starkness of his skin against the colour with the faint light from above. The stub of the woman’s finger is twitching, the rest clenching and unclenching, and he stares at it for a long moment before he realizes she hasn’t answered him.

“Are you ignoring me?” he asks, his voice hardening. "One would think you'd have the common sense not to ignore the one who has you at their mercy."

He's given a weak snarl in return and must exhale softly. Inside, the urgency nearly bubbles to a crescendo but he doesn't let that show. He can't. She'll see his composure break. She'll see that he doesn't have the stomach for this.

But he does. Oh, he does.

"You're about to pass out," he notes, observing the way her eyelids flutter. She's breathing rapidly with an occasional moan of pain. She doesn't move. Even the glare doesn't quite last long. "Blood loss, I imagine. I know just the thing to wake you up."

Her eyes widen at that, focus returning to irises glazed over in agony. "No, don't--!"

"I believe the time afforded for you to confess was more than generous," he responds coldly, and the Armiger hovers at his beck and call. There's a certain lack of warmth accompanying the summon of a small sphere of fire magic, due to Noct's current state, he imagines, and the thought makes his lips curl in a snarl. The barest crack affords a sudden, controlled spew of flames, bright hot and searing, and Ignis aims it carefully at the stub of what used to be a perfectly functioning finger.

She starts writhing. Her screams pierce the air again. He spots her attempt to move her broken leg and, why, it's an amusing thought considering she immediately stills with a choked cry. That pain she'd brought upon herself.

The flesh bubbles and burns. Her voice starts to become hoarse and sobs accompany the pitiful whines. Ignis pulls back the sphere and lets it disappear into the Armiger.

He holds her wrist loosely afterwards, knowing she doesn't quite have the strength to fight back now, and she looks broken. Her face is turned away from his and her entire body is trembling. Gently, he reaches forward again with a free hand and cups her cheek, forcing her to face him again. She flinches but it's not strong enough to loosen his grip.

"You'll tell me what I wish to know," he says. Gods, he's so close to losing it himself. He's so close to tearing into her flesh with his daggers, so close to smashing her face against the ground over and over again, if only to drag the answers he needs faster. But, no, that'll most likely end in her death and he can't afford that. He has no time to look for other leads. It's all or nothing, here.

“No,” she moans out, “no, never, not—not for Lucians—you’re all—y-you can all go fuck yourselves…”

Her words lack heat and each syllable shakes. She squeezes her eyes shut, not looking at Ignis anymore, and he almost hisses at once again another denial.

 _Stubborn_ , he almost says aloud, but he knows it would be followed by a curse and a loss of composure.

His grip on her chin regrettably become vice, however, but it stirs her into looking at him again, fear _very_ palpable in her eyes now.

“You have nine digits left for me to tear loose and cauterize,” Ignis informs her, and his voice is soft, so soft, and near- _crooning_. “Then I suppose I’ll have to move onto your toes.”

She swallows. “I’ll— _never_ talk, you fucking _bastard_.”

Another denial. Hysteria rises in Ignis just as fast as desperation and he almost _laughs_ with the strength of it. Noct is dying right now. Noct is dying and this woman _dares_ to dangle information before him to save his life. _She’s going to die no matter what happens_ , Ignis thinks, certain and quiet, _she’s going to die and I will enjoy every second of it_.

And then Ignis smiles, sharp and twisted. His words are a mad mockery of tenderness and his mind _shakes_.

“Oh, darling,” he whispers, thumb tracing the underside of her chin, “ _everyone talks_.”

* * *

 

She talks.

Babbles about the unique antidote and how to produce it. Confesses how it was just her and her partner who’d taken the job. Sobs out that she hates the Caelum dynasty so much. Ignis barely remembers standing up, getting his phone out and immediately listing out curt instructions to Gladio on how to rid Noct of the poison contaminating his body. Something to do with the silver blade, Ignis recalls distantly, but his mind’s shifted to other matters.

She wants to be let go. She’s told him what he wants and she wants to live as the reward.

Ignis stares at her for a single second after he hangs up the phone. He throws a dagger through her throat.

It was a necessity. It’s not so much an attempt to convince himself but more-so a fact. And he believes it.

Abruptly, he turns to the side, gags, and retches. It takes a minute at most to settle the nausea in his stomach. He draws out a napkin from a pocket and wipes his lips. Gladio had said to hurry back. He especially needs to check on Noct.

Gods, Noct.

He doesn’t look back at the body as he leaves.

* * *

 

Gladio’s waiting for him outside the clinic when he arrives. Ignis nods curtly to him as he begins to step past him but the Shield raises an arm to block him.

Ignis hisses, “ _Noct_ —!”

“Not like that,” Gladio states firmly, eyes darting over Ignis’ figure before glaring into his eyes. “Not the way you are right now.”

He’s beginning to develop a migraine. Ignis isn’t quite sure what he means and he opens his mouth to protest but Gladio gestures at his right hand. Ignis’ mouth snaps shut as he recalls a steady flow of blood and he glances down. There’s a faint splatter of blood over his torso but it’s hard to see considering the array of dark colours. However, his hand is a different matter. Blood _coats_ his fingers and palm and, were it not for the soaked sleeve of his blazer, he’s certain there’d be trails visible against his pale skin.

“Ah,” he intones simply, and his gaze shifts up to meet Gladio’s. “I’ll tidy up, then. How is he?”

“Good,” Gladio says shortly. Then exhales raggedly. “It was a close call, Iggy.”

A strangled noise almost escapes him but he manages to tamp down on it. Gods, if he’d been a second _later_ … if the woman hadn’t been so _bloody stubborn_ then Noct wouldn’t have been so close to death in the first place. He hates her. He wishes he didn’t make her death so quick. Belligerence rises in him, so quickly he almost blanches at the feel of it, but he manages to smother it. Later. _Later_. He needs to see Noct now.

“He’s resting?” he asks, mind already calculating the time it would take to go back to the Leville and change. Annoying, certainly, but despite the overwhelming urge to see Noct with his own eyes he trusts Gladio’s word.

“Prompto’s with him,” Gladio responds gruffly. Then, “Iggy—”

“The bodies,” Ignis cuts him off with a sharp tone. “I need to—”

“No, go have a shower,” Gladio interrupts him in turn, and breathes out a mirthless laugh. “I’ll deal with it.”

Ignis exhales. Closes his eyes briefly. Opens them. Nods. “Fine. I’ll see you back here.”

“Go in without me,” Gladio says, jerking his head back at the clinic. “Need to make a few calls.”

Ignis nods. They both don’t need to say anything more. He turns and quickly heads back to the hotel. The stiffness of his sleeve doesn’t escape him and he remembers how dark the blood had been against his palm under the dim street light. It hadn’t been quite as visible on the woman considering the dark clothes she’d worn. The ivory of the broken bone had been a significant contrast, though.

He arrives at the hotel. Gingerly undresses, showers, and puts on his white shirt and suspenders. He stares at the dark mauve of his shirt, the leopard print tainted by the splatters of blood, the stiffness of his blazer sleeve and the red that’d congealed on the underside of his right shoe.

He burns them and tosses the ashes. He pretends he isn’t reminded of screams and the sight of bubbling flesh.

* * *

 

Noct looks terrible.

Every emotion he’s been denying hits him with a rush and he lets out a choked sob the moment he sees his prince lying so still in the bed, propped up by a few pillows. Gods, Noct is normally pallid but now he’s even _more-so_ somehow and, despite the news that he's stable, there’s still terror welling up in Ignis at the sight. A little thinner than usual, too, judging by the gauntness in Noct’s face and Ignis wonders just what else the poison must've done in the time it’d been in Noct.

A hand at his mouth, he stifles another sob, and quickly takes the few strides between the door and Noct’s bedside before collapsing to his knees. Prompto’s already gone, having left the moment he’d seen Ignis approach, so no one’s seeing this abrupt breakdown. Not even Noct, hopefully.

He’s shaking, trembling. Eyes rake over Noct’s form and a hand shakily reaches over and presses two fingers against the pulse in his neck. It flutters, beats, but it’s weak. It’s _there_ but it’s so weak. Ignis inhales shakily and suppresses a hiccup of relief. Gods. So close. So _close_.

Had he been too late… Ignis can’t entertain the thought.

Slowly, he reaches for Noct’s limp hand resting to the side. He cradles the fingers twixt all his own and presses a lingering kiss against the knuckles. Then, suddenly, he thinks of ripping them all _off_ and abruptly he lets go of Noct’s hand and presses it back to the bed.

No touching Noct, then. That’s fine. Ignis swallows.

He bows his head and waits.

A muffled groan however many minutes later attracts his attention and his gaze immediately darts up to see Noct’s eyelids fluttering. The prince is trying to shift and Ignis rests a hand on Noct’s thigh, squeezing gently to still him.

“Noct,” he says hoarsely, a smile tugging at his lips. “You’re safe. Stay still. You’ve been grievously wounded.”

“S’all big words again…” comes the slurred mutter and Ignis frowns.

“Noct?” he asks.

The other’s gaze slides towards him and squints. It’s a moment where it’s painfully obvious Noct’s trying to focus on him before, strangely, a wide grin splits his lips. “Iggggyy!”

It suddenly occurs to Ignis. “Ah,” he says, eyes slightly widening. Morphine, he guesses, if only to allay the great pain Noct would’ve felt otherwise. “You’re… well. Yes, it’s me.”

“It’s you,” Noct whispers, voice hushed, and there’s something so reverent in Noct’s eyes that Ignis must duck his head to avoid staring. “C’mon, Iggy, don’t be shy! Show me that super handsome face!”

“You’ve far too much energy for someone who’s supposed to be on bedrest,” Ignis says, though it’s said with fondness as he inevitably looks up and he feels all his troubles melt away. Even if Noct is drugged up he’s still relieved to see that there doesn’t seem to be any lasting side-effects from his condition. “And, if anything,” he adds with some measure of hesitation, “you’ve always been far more handsome than me.”

Noct snorts and Ignis can’t help but examine each and every inch of the beautiful man before him. Amusement loosens Noct’s expression and his azure eyes are tired yet curiously stubborn. Gods. “Nah,” Noct says shortly, lifting the hand Ignis had touched previously and waving it. “S’all you. S’always been you, Iggy. Proper handsome.”

Something in Ignis, already broken, whines at the confirmation of a notion he’s always feared and _yearned_ for but he doesn’t attempt to chase it. Instead, he leans forward and smooths a hand over Noct’s forehead, gently brushing dark strands out of his face. “Not so,” he says softly with a smile, “you’re royally handsome, Noct. I believe that trumps everyone, even me. Very beautiful.”

“Nuh-uh,” Noct says, though he’s grinning, “but you can say that again, Iggy. Not gonna argue. ‘Specially if it’s from your mouth.”

This is entering dangerous territory. Ignis briefly considers urging the other to sleep but he’s _craving_ Noct’s company now. At the very least, he’ll pray the other won’t remember it in the morning. “Oh? That you’re royally handsome?” A quirk of his brow.

“No,” Noct says, and the smile’s fading slightly. He looks almost serious and not as drugged as Ignis hopes he is. “The other bit.” His voice is soft.

“Beautiful?” Ignis asks quietly, and his heart _pounds_ in his chest.

Noct grins suddenly. Ignis lets out an imperceptible sigh of relief. “ _Very_ beautiful, you said.”

“Yes, I did,” Ignis agrees, his own mirth curling at his lips once more. “I’m quite enamoured with your stunning looks.”

Noct sits up a little straighter. Ignis almost dives forward to push him back to rest but the very likely possibility of hurting Noct in that scenario halts him. Noct’s eyes are bright with recognition as he regards Ignis. He doesn’t know _why_ but then—

“You’ve said that,” Noct breathes out, and Ignis freezes.

“I’m not certain I remember that,” Ignis says slowly, carefully. He’s confused.

“You said I was stunning,” Noct says, almost _dreamily_ and Ignis knows for certain now that he’s still high from the drugs. “You said you wanted to run your hands through my hair.”

“Oh?” Ignis thinks his response comes out slightly strangled. He _definitely_ doesn’t remember that but he can certainly attest to _thinking_ it. “When was that?”

“When you were injured.” Noct’s expression drops but then he’s smiling again in the next second. “You said you _loved_ me.”

Ignis stiffens.

When… when had he said _that_? Gods, it’s not something he’s willing to easily admit to himself considering how hard he’s tried to suppress it all and to think it’s a confession Noct already _knows_ about… it scares Ignis. It truly does.

“A dream, perhaps,” Ignis says, and prays his voice doesn’t tremble.

“No,” Noct says, almost vehement; he’s frowning as he leans forward, eyes searching Ignis’ face. “I could barely hear it. You were drifting off again after the first time you woke up. Barely lasted a minute awake so I knew how exhausted you were. But you said it. Whispered it, whatever. I remember it as clear as day.”

“I…” He’s at a loss for words on how to respond to this. It’s so sudden a thing to discuss after the rollercoaster of events that’s just happened. He starts to reach for Noct’s hand, if only to urge him onto another topic, but the memory flashes in his mind and he stays still instead.

“It’s okay,” Noct whispers, and the smile he gives Ignis is so gentle he wants to cry. This isn’t how things are supposed to go. “You can say you love me, Iggy, ‘cause I love you, too.”

Ignis sucks in a sharp breath at the confession. He doesn’t know what to think. He doesn’t know what to _do_. Duty and obligations and the future all create a heavy maelstrom in his mind but nothing bursts forth from his lips. Instead, he can only stare at Noct, stare at the wonderful man that’s captured his attention and affection so thoroughly just by being _him_ , and wonder how exactly all of that’s been returned so easily.

“Please rest, Noct,” he manages instead, seeing the tiredness already dragging at the other’s shoulders and pulling at fluttering lids. He can’t confront that. He can’t. Not now. Not when what he’s just done hovers over his shoulders no matter how much he wants to suppress it. “You need to recover.”

“I… yeah.” Noct stares at him for a moment longer, awareness _scarily_ present in his eyes, though he settles back against the pillows again, a soft sigh escaping down-turned lips. The frown still pulls at his brows. “Iggy, you’re so damn—”

“May I hold your hand?” Ignis asks, nearly _blurts_ out the words, knowing what Noct will say. He doesn’t want to hear it. This will distract Noct and, perhaps, also allay his own fears.

Noct stares at him before that grin comes again, dopey and wide, despite the exhaustion clear around his eyes. “Yeah. Yeah, _duh_ , Iggy.”

Then, when Ignis hesitates very briefly, Noct adds softly, “please do.”

Gently, Ignis takes Noct’s hand within both his own and watches those eyes drift shut. He feels a squeeze and squeezes in return, heart warming at the familiarity of this. Nothing can taint this. He won't let it.

He squeezes his eyes shut and bows his head. A whisper escapes his lips, something he’ll inwardly deny letting free at all.

Above him, unseen, Noct smiles.

**Author's Note:**

> ignis, imo, is a very... repressed character??? like if something traumatic happens or if he does something that will haunt him he'll just repress it because it'll be a detriment to his duty and how he can help noct. i mean, noct has enough of his own problems so iggy doesn't wanna burden them with his own?? 
> 
> i hugely admire how, the majority of the time, ignis takes whatever's thrown at him and simply deals with them in his calm, quiet, and controlled way but if it's traumatic...? i can't see him dealing with that properly. or, at least, he wouldn't allow others to help him deal with it. i hc that, along with his general genius, his intrapersonal intelligence is incredible, and, combined with his formal psychological training and whatever else, he's able to deal with disorders and the like on his own. he wouldn't have been chosen for the position of adviser if he's hindered by his own mind and, as such, it's easier for him to wholly support noct when he needs it.
> 
> idk i need to yell about this LMAO. 
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/aveporac) | [tumblr](http://fureyas.tumblr.com/). come hither fam!! 8D i'm considering taking drabble requests for ignoct so.. hehe. or y'all just lemme know what you think in the comments below 8) thanks for reading guys!!
> 
> p.s. being directed towards torturing the hands was bc of @ruebirds.......... what a good LMAO  
> p.p.s me: 'loosely connected'  
> story: so here's five (5) references to the story that technically happened before this one


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